White Wings
by Clear Skies
Summary: Joint fic with AtheneMiranda. 1+4. Quatre finds Heero in the gundam hangar - but what is he doing to Wing?...


A/N: OK, first ever collaborative fic here. AtheneMiranda (http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=219775) and I cooked up this between us, and we hope very much that you like it! Leave us a review at the end of it, ne?   
Disclaimer: Don't own it. You _know_ that, so why are you even asking? Honestly!   
Pairing: 1x4, therefore shounen-ai. You have been warned.   
  


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**WHITE WINGS**

It's dark in here, dark and cold, but there's something welcoming about it anyway. Maybe it's the Gundams, standing there like giant watchmen – I've always found protection in my Gundam, and seeing five so close together's really comforting. Maybe it's just that I've got out of the house; it's crazy in there, Duo's got cabin fever and he's started pulling pranks all over the place. He put peppercorns in Trowa's breakfast cereal and now Trowa's sulking and Wufei's ranting about Justice…   
I blink, and notice a dim light burning in the far-right corner, shining up onto a silver-white gundanium leg. Wing. She's so beautiful, standing there with her wings folded back like that. I walk on down the hangar, past Altron on the left, all grey and green, then between Heavyarms and Deathscythe – clambering over one pointed foot, I swear that baka left it that way on _purpose_! Then Sandrock, my Sandrock, rearing up on the left. _'Laa ilaaha illa Allah,'_ I whisper, I can't help it, he inspires the faith in me so. And I think he likes to hear me say the _shahaadah_… I don't know why, it feels right to think of God when he stands beside me.   
And now she's there, in the back-right, lit up like an angel.   
"Heero?"   
_Click_.   
I whirl round, and he's there already, stepping out from behind her right leg and thumbing the safety on his gun back on. It rests loosely in one hand while he inspects me. I'm used to this; it's like a greeting from him, the all-over scrutiny you get every time you enter his presence – often no more than a split second in which he sizes you up, but sometimes it lasts longer, many moments of his blue eyes running all over my body. What does he see? Blond hair, too-blue eyes (they make me look too young, I think), off-white trousers and a fuzzy blue sweater – nothing I don't want him to look at. So why should I mind?   
"Quatre," he declares, and stuffs the gun in the belt of his dark trousers. He stalks past me, moving in a dead-straight line, and retrieves a stepladder from the back wall.   
"Hello, Heero."   
He replies with a noncommittal 'hn', and erects the little stepladder behind his Gundam's left wing – well, I suppose it's her right wing but it's left to me. I pull myself up a couple of feet and sit on Sandrock's huge toe, still watching Heero work. He grabs something off the floor, some tool I suppose, and climbs up the ladder.   
Well…I didn't really expect that he'd make conversation…I guess I have to try to do it myself, then.   
"So, you're working on Wing again?"   
Little clicks and scrapes ring over to me as he fiddles with his tools. "Hai." More fiddling, then a muted _pop_. "She deserves it."   
"Oh." What a strange thing to say. Then, I suppose it's like me talking to Sandrock; they're our friends, not just our weapons. But I don't work on Sandrock because he 'deserves it'... "What's up with her?"   
"She took a hit on our last mission. From a Leo. I'm repairing the damage." I hear the seesawing scratch of a fast-moving file.   
"Was it bad?" I can see his long arms moving as he works, left, right, left, right – He sets it down on the ladder top and picks up something different.   
"No."   
I hug my arms tight around me, starting to feel the chill a little. Sandrock may be my protector, but he still has cold toes. And Heero's not exactly warm company either... But after all the high emotions blowing around this morning I think I need a bit of Heero. It gets on my nerves, the little fights we sometimes have, my nerves and my spaceheart too. Heero's soothing, and he's not at all unfriendly – he's just not much of a talker.   
But I am, and, hm, I've often wondered... "Heero? What are the wings _for_?" Do you know, I think I can smell something. Something...chemical.   
"Heat shields. For entering atmosphere. They're combat shields too." Typical Heero, never using more words than he absolutely needs. Well, it's a lot better than Duo's prattling or Wufei's endless lectures...it's getting right up my nose now, I'm sure I should know what that smell is!   
Well, if it's anything dangerous I know Heero will realise and take care of it. I may as well try to have a conversation. "It was very good of them, to make useful equipment look so beautiful, don't you think?"   
"Hn." ...Oh. He comes down the ladder and crouches over a toolbox, putting away the file he was using earlier – I wonder, what is he doing exactly? – and looks at me over his shoulder. "I think they had to make her that way."   
I chew my lip for a second, sucking the soft flesh in and out of my mouth. "Why?"   
He rises gracefully to his feet, almost like a cat, or a panther – sleek and beautiful, but also wild, and maybe dangerous if you cross its path at the wrong time. "It's what she is. There's no other way to shape her. You couldn't make her ugly even if you wanted to."   
I nod, understanding now. Or do I? I could never trade Sandrock for anything else, but – I suppose I just never really thought about him much. Perhaps I should – if Heero thinks about who his Gundam is and what she wants, it must be right, because he's so perfect. He is perfect; a perfect soldier, a perfect hacker, a perfect thinker. He even looks perfect, dark hair falling just shy of those huge blue eyes – strange, blue eyes look far better on him than on me – and lithe body moving as smoothly as if he were flying. He should have been a dancer, not a terrorist, but then the colonies need a saviour and he's perfect for that too. And it's only because of the war that he met me...   
He glides back up the ladder and sets back into his task. I think that smell's getting stronger... "You don't need to work on Sandrock?"   
I start – it's not often that Heero asks a question – oh no, I'm breathing too hard, it's like a thrill! "Uh, I don't really _need_ to, no. He's not damaged."   
Heero leans out toward me so he can see my Gundam (and I can see _him_. How neat). He studies it minutely, gaze rnning up and down, scouring every inch of the fifty-four foot frame, shotels, shield, body, face. His eyes come to rest on the foot where I sit, boring into mine intensely. There's no curiosity there, or malice – just something strange and _personal_ I don't know a word for.   
"Hn," he says, and turns his attention back to the wingtip.   
I think I'm blushing now. I know I'm tingling – I shouldn't, he doesn't mean anything by it I'm sure, but I can't help but wish that, you know, that he _did_...ah well.   
"You think he needs upgrading?" I ask tentatively. Well? If I don't say anything i don't get to hear him reply, do I? And yes, his voice sounds perfect too.   
"Everything needs upgrading." Oh, he sounds so convinced... "It's called evolution, Quatre."   
I never thought of that either. Heero's full of wisdom today. Maybe it's because he says so little, that he listens so much and thinks so deeply. I wish I could be like that, but I think I'm more used to concentrating on people's emotions than on the mysteries of the universe. Maybe that's a door that will always stay closed to me.   
"You know," I say slowly. "I sometimes feel bad about upgrading Sandrock." He shoots me another glare, perhaps inviting me to explain myself. "I feel like I'm losing something, like I might accidentally take away the Sandrock I know. It's silly, isn't it? But I can't help it, I just feel that way about him."   
His narrowing eyes make my heart go heavy for an instant, like I've said something wrong or felt something I shouldn't have - perhaps I have, I know I'm too sentimental -   
"Interesting." He puts his mysterious equipment down on the top of the ladder and jumps the six feet to the floor in one great leap. "Maybe that's right for Sandrock. I know that Wing only wants to fly higher."   
I feel myself smiling as he walks over to my Sandrock. He thinks I'm right. He didn't say I was wrong. I smile even wider when he offers me a hand down off my perch. I slide off the cold gundanium foot onto the warehouse floor, still grinning, probably foolishly but who cares? Heero looks down at me, seemingly satisfied by what he sees in my face.   
"I'm finished. Would you like to head back now?"   
"Yes. I t was kind of chaotic earlier but they should have calmed down by now." Oh, he's standing so close to me - I could _smell_ him if it weren't for that, that other stuff!   
He makes to walk off. "Quatre?" He glances over his shoulder again, catches my eye so deeply again, making me shiver again, oh dear -   
He runs his eyes down his arm to where our hands meet, and one dark eyebrow slides up into his fringe. "Oops!" I release his hand, so embarrassed i _must_ be going red (oh no…), and he pivots and walks off down the hangar. Oh no, how could I? That was so stupid of me… I stare ahead of myself unhappily, watching Heero jump up onto Deathscythe's footpad and stroll across to the other side, then down again - oh no. At least he won't tell the others what I did. Only now he won't talk to me again, I know it…   
He disappears at the back of the hangar. The door creaks its way open, then shuts with a _thud_. I find myself staring dolefully at the floor…damn it. Ah well. I've done it now. I can't undo it, however stupid it was. A wet drip makes its way down my face. I can't take it back now.   
I can't stay here crying, either. The others will all wonder where I am. I plod my way down the room, step by heavy step. Oh dear, he won't tell them will he? He could be telling them even now - no, he won't I know he won't. But he won't want to be near me again either, and that's _worse_, oh no…   
I raise a hand - the hand Heero held - and he _did _hold it, just for a second - and wipe all the tears off my face. I look at it, starting to feel wistful. He _did_ hold it… I turn it around and uncurl the fingers, one by one -   
- what's this? Something white? A silver-white stain…? I dab my thumb into the little mark on the knuckles - and that odd smell wafts up. It's paint, gloss paint! It must have been on Heero's hand -   
On Heero's _hand_?   
I race back up the room, skid past that wingtip and look straight up the ladder. A filed-down missile graze, a slightly crushed feather…wet paint.   
Heero was _repainting_ Wing? For all that time?   
That's…so kind, that…I wish he cared that much about…me…   


*****

As the first breathy notes of Trowa's flute soar out into the cool air, I know I don't belong.   
It's a rare period of calm. For once, Duo isn't being insanely hyperactive. Seen as he's usually the spark that blows the powder keg, everyone else is relatively quiet too. Wufei hasn't got any reason to start arguing with Duo, which means Quatre doesn't need to make his usual kind-hearted but ineffectual attempt at peacekeeping. Trowa hasn't withdrawn like he usually does, either – mostly when the others are fighting he just closes in on himself. And of course all this means that I don't have to lose my temper, march in and try to throttle that idiot Maxwell with his own braid.   
Instead, Trowa suggested we went out into the garden and played some music.   
So here we are, out in the garden. Trowa has his flute; Wufei has taken care of percussion, dusting off two small hand drums; Duo, under great duress, has produced his guitar; and Quatre has his violin tucked securely underneath his chin.   
Why Duo's so reticent about his musical abilities is a mystery. It could surely be worse – he could be like me, instrumentless. I'm the outsider here, and not just musically speaking.   
The signs of autumn are everywhere. Red-orange leaves dot the grass around us – even as I watch, another begins its downward journey from the sycamore tree above. There is a quality to the air – not the vibrant freshness of spring, not the heady fragrance of summer, but a smell that makes one think of thick mists and gentle dew, of drifts of leaves and windy afternoons.   
Trowa's flute cuts through the silence again. They've finished tuning up, and now he launches into the first few bars of the song. After a few seconds, Quatre joins him, the mellow tone of the violin mingling with the softer noise of the flute.   
  
Ah yes. Quatre. Alone of the four he provokes an odd feeling when I look at him. The way he acted this morning in the hangar, the way his hand lingered in mine for a few second longer than was necessary...was he trying to tell me something?   
I can't be sure. He's been acting inscrutable ever since it happened - and with Duo temporarily subdued, that makes the house the quietest it's been in a long while. For once I can just sit and be alone with my own thoughts - however unsettling they may be. A certain fair-haired, blue-eyed pilot has been intruding on my contemplation far more than usual today.   
He's just as much a mystery as any of us, despite being the only one who can give a reliable and cognisant account of his entire life so far. He's so passionate about the need for peace and yet so fired up when it comes to fighting for it. He could so easily be lounging in a plush mansion, waited on hand and foot by servants, but instead he chooses to live here, with us. Why? What reason could he possibly have?   
I don't know, but...I wish I were the reason...   
  
The tune is wonderful, lilting and melodic, bringing to mind a cool breeze blowing through the first leaves of spring, or white-crested waves spilling onto a sandy shore. Such lovely music - I wish I could have a part in making it.   
Suddenly a voice joins the instruments, clear and strong. Wordless notes soar out into the air, following the tune so closely that it's hard to tell where one ends and the others begin.   
One by one, the players fall silent - Wufei stops tapping out the rhythm, and Duo ceases strumming chords on his guitar. Trowa's flute trails off and he sits there open-mouthed...   
...and then I realise with an icy-water shock that the voice is mine, and that Quatre and I are the only ones left in this tune. I stumble, but he gives me a look of fierce encouragement over his violin and carries on. I take a deep breath and soar with him into the last few bars, a high pealing descant that ends with one long note...   
  
And the spell is broken. Duo starts chattering away about the 'closet songbird', while Trowa wants to know where I learned to sing like that. Wufei merely sits back and regards me thoughtfully, one thin eyebrow slanted at an angle. And Quatre...   
...simply sits there, violin forgotten in his hand. The look on his face is one of wonder, mixed with...something I can't define but that I definitely want to learn more about.   
Abruptly, I realise that this isn't how Heero Yuy should be acting. I turn away from Quatre's blue-eyed stare, ignoring Duo's inane babble and Trowa's quiet questions. Rising to my feet, I lope easily away from the gathering, heading for the hangar. Despite my outward calm, though, my heart is racing - I keep wanting to look back to see if he's coming after me.   
No need. I can hear footsteps behind me, and I can tell they're Quatre's. The footfalls aren't regular enough for Trowa's long legs - whoever-it-is is having to jog slightly to keep up - and are far too erratic to match Wufei's measured pace. Since Duo would've run to catch me up already, that leaves only Quatre.   
I increase my speed almost imperceptibly, trying to draw away from him, but he won't give up. By the time I reach the hangar my muscles are burning from the effort, and he's _still_ only just behind me. I'm barely through the hangar door when he catches my arm.   
  
I turn to face him. His face is flushed pink from the little walk we just took, and his blond hair falls into his eyes. He flicks it away absent-mindedly, fixing me with a quizzical stare.   
"I didn't know you could sing."   
"I can't." I detach myself carefully from his grasp, then move over to where Wing stands, stately and majestic. I murmur a greeting to her as Quatre comes up beside me.   
"But I heard you. You _can_ sing."   
I never take my eyes off my beautiful Wing as I answer, "That wasn't me."   
He persists, tugging on my arm like a small child. "Who _was_ it, then? Heero..."   
I turn at this new tone in his voice. "What?"   
"Heero, I...my spaceheart, I...felt something."   
"Felt what?" I turn my head away, not trusting myself to meet his eyes. Has he sensed what I've felt, too?   
"Heero..." He reaches out towards me - was that the hand I held this morning? "When you sang...did you sing for me?"   
I lift my head, staring for a long moment up at Wing, feeling her quiet serenity flowing down like a gentle snowfall. I drink in the sight of her, so perfect with her wings folded behind her, and I offer up a silent _I love you...   
_I turn to Quatre and incline my head, once. 


End file.
